CHAPTER THIRTY
JENN
“Isn’t she a beauty?” Rick held his arms wide, almost as if he could embrace the boat. He breathed in deeply and let it out as if he were drinking in cool water after a long parched thirst. He climbed the ladder on the side, then turned around, only to find me still standing in the driveway. “Come on up and look around.”
“You made partner!” I said with as much excitement as I could muster. “Hancock, Donaldson, Cleese, and Banks! I’m so proud of you!” If I said it loud enough, maybe I’d feel less vulnerable, less frightened. As it was, a paralysis threatened to grip my feet, keeping me planted on the driveway instead of running away. It’s as if my body knew that the boat was how I’d die.
“Come on up and give me a proper celebratory kiss!” Rick called down, half coaxing, half mocking. “You look as if the boat’s going to bite. You’ll find no gators on board, if that’s what you’re thinking. Promise.” He laughed a bit too hard at that.
“Later, ‘kay?” I said, trying hard to keep my tone light.
“Come on.” Those two words used to have so much power over me. They didn’t anymore, and I wondered at my old self, why I so often caved to keep the peace.
I gestured toward the house and shrugged as if I were disappointed in not being able to join him. “I would, but Ivy’s alone in her highchair, and the salmon’s going to dry out if I don’t take it out of the oven soon.”
“Fine,” Rick said with a sigh, then swung a leg over the side. “Later.”
As he lowered himself, rung by rung, I worried he’d try to push me up the ladder after all. I turned to head back inside through the garage as he kept talking. “After dinner, you need to climb up and check it out. It’ll be fun.” His tone was what you’d expect from a parent coaxing a child to get into the bathtub because they’re afraid they’ll get sucked down the drain.
The big difference is that a child’s fear about the drain could be shown to be irrational.
My fear over a boat showing up on my driveway wasn’t irrational. I didn’t have months to figure out how to run and disappear with Ivy. I had weeks or maybe just days.
Rick reached the last rung and then hopped down to the concrete beside me.
I nodded toward the boat. “She’s beautiful,” I said. I meant to turn and head back inside, but the look he gave pinned me to the ground.
I stood rooted in place. Did he know I’d found out more than what I’d told him over dinner at Rocky’s Steakhouse? All of the names, the fake diplomas, the other wives, and their suspicious deaths? Most of all, I knew why he’d bought that boat—to get rid of me and Ivy now that he’d made partner. I had to get back in the house—had to. As if he’d know my thoughts just by looking at me if I stayed outside a second too long.
“Of course she’s beautiful,” Rick finally said after a silence that had pulled thin and tight. “She takes after her namesake.”
“You’re sweet,” I said, pecked his cheek, then really did head back inside. Despite my hammering heartbeat, I made sure to keep my head up and my step light so he wouldn’t ask questions or suspect anything. “She’s really something,” I said over my shoulder.
Something like a murder weapon.
Most wives would be upset over a sudden big-ticket purchase. A year ago, I might have been. Now, the issue of buying something as expensive as a boat and a truck—to pull it, I assumed—without telling me paled in comparison to what he planned to use them for.
Who cared about how much money he blew if it meant that the window of time Ivy and I had to get away from him was quickly closing?
The salad fixings still sat on the counter. I went to them, intending to put away the vegetables, but my hands started trembling. I pressed my hands against the counter to steady them.
Calm down fast, before Rick comes inside. As if calming down in a hurry weren’t an oxymoron.
Breathe. Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight.
Rick’s footsteps sounded in the doorway. I straightened and grabbed tongs and tossed the salad, pretending that I’d been finishing up the salad the whole time.
He closed the door to the garage, then stepped behind me. I could feel his warmth radiating along my back, a feeling that used to be one of comfort. Now it felt like danger. Setting down the tongs, I eyed the knife on the cutting board that I’d used to chop the vegetables. Could I defend myself with it? It looked more like a liability—he could grab it or wrench it from my grip.
Rick’s arms wrapped around me, binding my arms to my sides. I inhaled sharply. I held my breath, not daring to move or struggle, though my eyes never left the knife blade.
“Mm, you smell good,” he said. He nuzzled my neck as he used to. I felt like vampire prey, as if he were getting ready to bite my jugular.
I chuckled awkwardly, trying to keep my fear hidden. Tilting my head back to look at him, I said, “I can’t finish your dinner without the use of my arms.”
“Hmm, that is a problem,” he said with fake thoughtfulness. “Maybe I’ll have dessert first.” He left kisses along one side of my neck.
Forcing myself to act casual, I managed to turn around in his arms and kiss him soundly on the lips. Then I pulled back and smiled flirtatiously. “Later. Dinner’s ready. The salmon’s going to be all dry if we wait . . .”
He gave a mock sigh of resignation, then kissed me again. “I guess I can wait for dessert. Hey, let’s stream a movie while we eat.”
I glanced at the table, which I’d already set. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll bring our plates down.”
He walked off, letting his hand trail along, touching me as he passed and patting my butt at the last moment. I didn’t breathe easily until he’d gone downstairs and sounds from the television drifted to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, I’d gotten Ivy and the highchair washed and plates dished up for me and Rick. I brought the baby down first, then fetched our dinners as Rick cued the movie.
“What are we watching?” I asked, handing him his plate.
“The Prestige,” he said, lifting his brow in a show of interest.
“I haven’t seen it.”
“If the paralegals at work are to be believed, it stars two of the hottest men alive.”
“Oh.” What else could I say? Rick got weirdly jealous if I so much as hinted that a celebrity might be something other than ugly.
As the movie began, I learned that the stars were Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale. I made a point of not reacting to their names with anything other than a nod and “They’re both very talented.”
With Ivy chewing on a toy at my feet, I dug into my dinner.
Only a few minutes in, the magicians on stage put a female assistant in a tank of water. The bite of salad in my mouth suddenly tasted like cardboard. My eyes were riveted to the screen until the woman was safely out of the water.
I was able to eat some more until a few minutes later, when the same trick was performed, but this time, something went wrong. I swallowed, and a bite of salmon stuck in my tightened throat as I watched the woman fight and struggle and try to communicate that she was in trouble. By the time the men realized what was wrong, it was too late.
She’d drowned.
“What the hell?” Rick said suddenly.
I looked over and realized he said it at me, not the movie. My plate had fallen to the floor, scattering dressing, salad, and salmon pieces everywhere.
“Oh shoot.” I got on my knees to clean up the mess. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You’re going to have grease stains all over the carpet,” Rick said with an annoyed shake of his head.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said, though I felt as if I had sticks and marbles in my mouth.
All I could think of was the woman who’d drowned on screen. My hands shook as I scooped the food onto my plate, and my legs felt weak as I took it back to the kitchen and returned with a spray bottle of stain remover and a rag. Rick halfheartedly offered to pause the movie. When I didn’t answer, he kept watching.
With my back to the television, I worked the stains out of the carpet. I couldn’t bear to watch more. When I returned the cleaning supplies to the kitchen, I stayed there for a few minutes and did more breathing exercises.
“Hurry!” Rick called. “You’re going to miss some important parts.”
How could I get out of watching the rest of the movie? “I should probably get Ivy to bed.”
“Feed her down here. She can sleep here until later.”
“I don’t know . . .” Ivy did better when she got her full bedtime routine. And I didn’t want to see another frame of that movie.
“Don’t worry, the rest of it isn’t scary.”
Tentatively, I walked down the stairs. I picked up Ivy and looked at Rick. “It’s not scary? Promise?”
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up a hand.
Boy Scouts held up three fingers close together, not a full hand. But then, he was no Boy Scout, literally or otherwise.
If I didn’t watch the movie tonight, he’d make fun of me for being scared, and then he’d pester me until I finally watched it. Sometimes giving in was easier than fighting.
This is one of the last times I’ll have to decide whether to fight a battle with him. The realization made the prospect of the movie less upsetting. Soon, I’d be far away from him, and I wouldn’t have to pick my battles about dumb things like movies.
I’d have to fight battles with far greater stakes. I could handle a scary movie.
The film was interesting. A bit dark at times, confusing at others. Hidden identities became an important part of the story. A glance at Rick proved that he was enjoying himself immensely, probably loving the fact that he, too, had a hidden identity. Several. More than he realized I knew about.
Heaven only knew how much more existed that I hadn’t found.
The movie had more drownings. Horrifying ones. Near the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. Was this pre-traumatic stress? I dropped my head into my hands, covering my ears and pressing my eyes into my knees so I couldn’t hear or see the screen. Too late, though—I had seen and heard enough to haunt my nightmares.
“Sheesh, what’s the matter?” Rick said, laughing. He patted my back as if I were a first grader scared over a haunted house ride at an amusement park. “It’s just a movie.”
But it wasn’t just a movie. It was my future.